Fury
by Artemis Rain
Summary: Trial and Error: Joan was not the only one hurt and betrayed by Adam Rove. A guiltstricken Grace vows revenge.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to Joan of Arcadia (except maybe the tape I use to tape it every week) and make no money at all. Especially not from this.

Spoilers: "Trial and Error" and "The Cat" (the stuff about Grace's mom)

Author's note: This story is sort of my own perspective on Grace's feelings during Trial and Error. It's kinda weird, I know, but, hey, there are a lot of weird people out there who might actually enjoy it! Please understand that this is a fictional representation of what Grace MIGHT be feeling, not a judgement I'm making about what she deserves. My Grace is pretty angry, but I don't think it's out of character. After all, Adam said it himself in "State of Grace": Nobody can hold a grudge like Grace Polk.

Major thanks to Diminished 9th, without whom this story would not have been posted.

Fury

It was a day, like any other. A conversation, a kiss, forced participation in a pathetic facsimile of authoritarian "justice." Still, Girardi was involved, and therefore the potential existed for fun. Victory would be hers. She only needed a Jack. Minor problem: She found people wholly intolerable, and everyone involved in mock trial unfortunately qualified. She didn't like them, and they didn't like her. She had no desire to defend them, or to interact with them at all. Jack had to be hers. Someone who could make this dismal situation slightly more bearable. Someone who she could trust to see her "participate". Someone who would trust her to defend him. Someone who may cause Girardi to hold back when prosecuting. It was going be perfect. Then…

She had stood motionless, totally floored by his softly muttered words. "I cheated on Joan." But _why_? _Anger, Disbelief, why would he do that? And why would he tell her?_ She was paralyzed; shock and rage running through her veins. _What did he want from her? Forgiveness? Reassurance? Or the opposite?_ "Say something," but what? What could she say? Implications and consequences were raining down in her head. He told her. She knew. _What could she say? Who could she say it to?_ Stuck in the middle, _not again!_ She spent years working to cover up her mother's problem. She lied, she kept secrets, she did everything in her power to convince the world that there was no problem at homeIt was killing her, a little every day. Had he counted on her experience in covering up unpleasant situations and confrontations? Was he trying to enlist her help in keeping this from Joan? Had he known that her automatic reaction would be to pretend everything was OK? She was finally dealing with her mother, finally learning how to admit her problems and let go of the stifling secrecy, and he wanted to pull her right back in. And it was working. His self-destructive behaviour had destroyed her, too. How could she do it? How could she say anything? She had three people whom she tolerated enough to call "friend" and if this secret got out, she would lose them all, unable to spend time with any of them without alienating the others. How could she side with Rove after what he'd done? How could she turn away from him, side with the Girardis, knowing that she was all he had? The history they shared? What had he done? How dare he do this to Joan, and how dare he do this to her. _How dare he, how dare he, how dare he…_She had walked away before the shock could subside enough to release the anger. When she was far enough away that he was no longer visible, she had beaten the hell out of the nearest vending machine.

That night, she had dreamed that she was drowning; tangled in a net made of lies, and pulled down by weights she could neither see nor cast off.

_It was only a trial, just a fairy tale, just pretend…_She worked hard to convince herself that she was defending Jack, and not Adam. _She had to keep it together. Pretend. It was just like with her mother. Just pretend it's OK. It was a mock trial. Defend Jack, not Rove; Jack, not Rove; Jack, Jack, defend Jack…_By the time the trial started, she had almost convinced herself. Then Girardi found out. _Awkwardness, sudden crushing guilt. _This wasn't supposed to happen_. How did everything go so wrong? _Anger, no… fury, surged through her_. A freak? And Rove had said it. _Rage, like a fire, blazing through her body, and suddenly crushed, deadened by the guilt of her own participation in this grotesque charade_. Despair, revulsion, and sudden quiet sorrow. _The trial was over_, the trial was starting…._

It was no longer a mock trial. It was a mockery of a trial. Girardi attacked mercilessly, with every exchange disgust and horrified comprehension intensifying on her face. Pretend growing more and more personal. Girardi was relentless, and Grace watched with rapt attention, ignoring Rocket Boy's puzzlement. Joan spoke, and suffered and cried, Grace herself in every question, every tear, every betrayal. Grace felt the word rising in her throat, but could not force the "objection" out through her lips. She wasn't defending Jack anymore, and she had no objections to Rove getting what he deserved. By the time the words left her mouth, they had been reduced to a weak sigh, simultaneously pushed out and held back. How could she possibly defend him? How could she not? _Girardi knew, and soon her brother would know, and then It would be over. _Grace had lied. Grace had defended him. It wasn't pretend. In hindsight, they would believe it had never been pretend. They would never forgive her. She had lost them. She had lost them all. She couldn't side with him, not after what he had done to Grace, to Joan, to the "freak." The female Girardi would never speak to her again. The male Girardi would have to stand by his sister. It was over _Guilty. _Nothing on her face betrayed the relief she felt at losing the case. Leaving the room, a clueless geek by her side, she could find no solace in justice. Standing in the hall, trying not to explain, trying to savour their last moments together, she could see _him_ through the doors: crying, shaking, begging, miserable. It simply wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He had stolen her happiness and ruined her life, and the lives of her friends. He would pay. _Get past it? Move on?_ Rove would never be free of his crime. She would haunt him with it until the day he died. And, knowing him as well as she knew herself, Grace would not allow him to die until he had suffered the full ferocity of her wrath. Without a word of explanation, she took off down the hall, away from her genius, _putting the pieces together_, searching for something, anything, that she could unleash herself upon. To destroy, utterly, as she had been destroyed. But there was nothing. Nothing but her own ragged breathing and unshed tears. Nothing deserving, or worthy, of her anger.

Grace wandered, seeking something she could neither define nor describe. Something to destroy, or perhaps preserve. Her vow running circles in her mind, she recalled a story she had heard as a child. Legends had described the Furies as demonic, immortal women born from the Earth, conceived from the blood of a castrated god.Remorseless, inexhaustible, part woman, part dog, and sometimes part snake, they descended on wrongdoers and pursued them relentlessly, shrieking and lamenting, never allowing the wicked a moment's respite from the guilt and memory of their crimes. A myth, nothing more.Grace had never been fooled. Furies were as real as the ground beneath her feet, and Grace was living proof. Rebellion and anger came naturally to her, often unprovoked. Shetook up social causes, never allowing people to become complacent.She fought with her mother, screaming, never allowing her to forget or ignore the pain she caused her family when she was drunk. Her entire life: behaviour, appearance, attitude, was a living and breathing reminder to society of all its shortcomings. She had been a Fury for as long as she could remember. And who was more deserving of pursuit than Rove?

At night, she didn't sleep. At school she sought out Rove and shackled herself to his side, with chains neither of them could see, but both could feel the weight of. As she walked across the school grounds with Rove at her side, she could feel Joan's eyes on her, and though she didn't look up to see, she could feel the question in them, as well. Adam had caused pain to both Joan and herself. He had wronged them both, and the poor woman he had used. Yet Grace was walking with him, clearly taking his side. Joan looked at her and saw the enemy. She hadn't spoken to the Girardis. She didn't want to know what they had to say to her, and she had nothing adequate enough to say to them. Nothing that could ever lessen, or excuse her betrayal. She had a new life now, and a new purpose: to make Rove suffer for this outrage. Eternally, and without hope of pardon or reprieve. Glaring, seething, she was a living reminder of what he had stolen. A Fury never wavers, and never falters. Her task was to nurture his agony, and by God she was going to do it.

It was who she was.

It was all she had left.


End file.
